Absolute War
by NateOdinsson
Summary: <html><head></head>A thousand years after the end of the Human-Covenant War, order has broken down and the galaxy is locked in a bitter civil war. A band of mercenary Spartans must struggle just to survive when a warlord releases an ancient but all too familiar threat.</html>


**Author's Note:** Writing Halo fanfiction isn't normal . . . but on Red vs. Blue it is. Red vs. Blue: not even once.

Absolute War

I.

_The blade I swing is blackest night  
>Black as my soulless heart<br>It bears the burden of many lives  
>But I don't feel remorse<br>I lend my sword to anyone  
>Willing to pay the price<br>No regrets for what I've done  
>A mercenary's life<br>But there I was on battleground  
>Until I felt the jaws of death<br>Cut into my flesh  
>Defending old and weak<br>But I did not retreat_

—_Amon Amarth_

Four men, tall, beardless, short-haired and unnaturally pale, sat around an oak table in the center of a smoke-filled room. A spiral notebook lay on the table, open to a drawing of a fortified camp. One of the men took a long draw off of a cigar and said, "Ragnar, report. How many vehicles do we have?"

"Enough, Chief," another man answered. "Six tanks, eighteen warthogs, three ghosts, all in perfect working order."

"Good. Men?"

"Two hundred, plus those mercenaries."

The Chief sighed. "And they have a few tanks, heavy machine guns, a couple of shades, God knows how many rocket launchers. We're going to lose more than half of the vehicles before we get over the inner redoubt."

"Heavy losses are inevitable when you're assaulting a fixed position with no air support. How much are you willing to sacrifice?"

"All of it, Ragnar. I would off this entire unit myself if it meant getting my hands on that weapon."

"The thing they're trying to protect from us, sir, this 'weapon'; what is it?"

"That's classified. Suffice to say that it will be more than enough to change our fortunes in this war."

"Suggested avenue of approach, sir?"

"East. We come in at dawn, heavy and fast with the sun at our backs, and we have to be well inside before they even know what's happening or they might scuttle my weapon. Is everyone clear on the plan?"

"Crystal clear, chief," the men said.

"Then you're dismissed. Go get some sleep. I'll wake everyone at 0400."

The two men who hadn't spoken filed out of the room. The Chief took a glistening metal object off of his belt, held it up, and pushed a button on it. The air crackled with sudden energy as two twin blades of green plasma emerged from the end of it.

The Chief held the sword out in front of him and whispered, "Now let us cast our arms aside, and like discard our wrath. Thou in faith will keep us safe, whilst we find the Path."

He heard a quick intake of breath and turned to see Ragnar standing by the door, his eyes wide. "Something wrong, Ragnar?"

"Nothing, sir. A goose walked over my grave. That rhyme, sir, it sounds so familiar; what is it?"

"A bit of meaningless doggerel, something my father used to say when he put me to bed at night. Go to sleep, Ragnar."

"Yes, sir."

As Ragnar walked out, the Chief held the plasma sword up to his face and kissed the handle. He whispered, "Don't worry, baby. I'll feed you soon."

* * *

><p>Most of the soldiers were eerily pale from so much time spent in their battle armor, but Egil Johansson and his mercenaries—though they were also Spartan-9s—all had the ruddy complexions of men accustomed to life outside. Johansson himself sat leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table in the debriefing room to which the Chief had summoned him.<p>

"We're attacking at dawn," said the Chief, "and ending this tomorrow."

Johansson rolled his eyes. "So you're going to have two forts in the middle of a box canyon instead of just one? I'm so happy for you."

"They have something I want, and I have to take it as soon as possible. We don't have time for sapping and a protracted siege. Do you know what that means?"

"It means that your little army is going to break on those earthworks and roll back like a wave breaking on the beach. Then they'll be the ones with two bases inside of a box canyon."

"My thoughts exactly. I want you and your men to make sure that that doesn't happen. My attack will come from the east in exactly six hours. I want you and your men to come in from the west in four, take cover in the trees that overlook the western redoubt, and take out as many of their men as you can from a distance."

"It'll look like routine skirmishing to them," Johansson mused, "and they'll say to themselves, 'That Chief guy, there's no way he'd be dumb enough to launch a direct assault.'"

"That's what I'm counting on."

"Sounds like a suicide mission to me, boss."

"Isn't that your specialty? And of course you'll all be paid handsomely."

"Well then you've picked the right man for the job."

"Good. Go debrief your squad and report back here at 0400. You're dismissed."

Johansson rose, nodded curtly at the Chief, and walked out. He trotted down the concrete halls of the bunker, out into a field encircled by a high earthen wall, and into a collection of tents at the far end of that field. He woke up the men and women sleeping there, told them what the chief had told him, and sat down to clean and oil his sniper rifle by the light of a kerosene lamp.

"Sounds like suicide," one of the mercenaries, a woman, said.

"I agree," said Johansson.

"The Chief is just trying to get rid of us so that he won't have to pay us."

"Almost certainly."

"So what do you intend to do about it?"

"I intend to not get killed and to collect more pay than I've ever dreamed of. The Chief ain't exactly the brightest guy, but even he wouldn't be dumb enough to gyp us when we come back." He grinned. "You scared?"

"Hell no."

"I didn't think so. Hell, who wants to live forever anyways?"

* * *

><p>Ten miles to the west, surrounded by five levels of high and thick earthwork redoubt, was another reinforced concrete bunker. Deep under the bunker was a room accessible only by a winding hallway and two heavy steel blast doors. Two figures sat inside of the room. One was an old man, roughly seven feet tall, wearing a suit of red battle armor and clutching a shotgun. The other was nine feet tall, hunched, serpentine. His toothy mouth had four parts which clacked together as he talked. He wore similar armor of gold polished to a high mirror shine.<p>

"You should've destroyed them long ago," the creature said. "It isn't safe to keep them alive."

"They are the only thing keeping peace in this valley. The Chief fears their use as much as he desires to obtain them, and he knows that I can destroy them at my leisure. As long as he fears them and wants them, there is peace."

"Would you ever, under any circumstances, release them?"

"You have asked me that many times since you first came here, and my answer is still the same. No. I would never use them, not for any reason or under any circumstances."

"I am glad that that is your answer, for if it had changed I would have no choice but to kill you where you stand and destroy them myself."

Behind them, nestled safely between two thermite scuttling charges, was a large Plexiglas tube, and inside the tube six small creatures with chitinous tentacles and bulbous, gas-filled heads bounced around expectantly, waiting to be fed.


End file.
